Star Crossed
by ellamariexx
Summary: When it's all over, what's left? PeetaxKatniss


I used to be able to tell when something wasn't real. I could hold on to Prim and tell her there were no monsters under her bed and I could tell Peeta that I'm not going to hurt him. That's how I know this can't be real, because I _know_ when something isn't real. Roses don't glitter but yet I'm reaching out and touching its petals. Something so pure and clean has no business in District 12. I imagine squashing it in my hands and wearing it down until it has been reduced to ugly pieces; ugly little pieces that could scatter with the wind. A red drop falls onto a petal staining it scarlet; its veining transformed by the pigment. More drops begin to follow until it's raining down hard enough to make the flower buckle under the weight. Now it's not just the rose, we are all pawns standing in a downpour of blood. The iron taste fills my mouth and the thickness of it covers my limbs. I try to wipe it off but it keeps coming and by now I'm scrubbing at the skin so hard I can't tell whose blood it is anymore.

"Katniss." A sweet voice rings out.

Reeling at the sound I jerk towards the figure and suddenly we are in the arena again. This isn't right, I volunteered, she shouldn't be here. "Prim…"

Everything stops and my throat clenches in panic. She shouldn't be here, _no one should be here_.

"Katniss." She begs again and I struggle to move my body. It's like the weight of the world is holding me down when all I want to do is run.

That's when an arrow comes out of nowhere and pierces her heart. It sends her small figure stumbling backwards. Her hands travel slowly over her chest discovering the wound that is now growing as the blood saturates her clothes. I feel something smooth and cold in my hands. By the time I look down they are rising up and I am steady as I aim the bow now clutched within my grasp. These are my arrows and my aim has never been off. One after another each arrow hits its mark throwing her small body into a convulsion with every piercing blow. Finally, her body collapses and I can move again. I kneel next to her with trembling hands and touch her once blonde hair now tinged pink with her own blood. How could I have done this? Why did I do it? "Prim." My voice breaks.

Suddenly her eyes are wide open and when she screams it feels as if its ripping from my own throat. It's a horrible noise, a carnal and distractingly animalistic scream of pain.

A whoosh of air escapes my throat as I sit up panting, the bed sheets damp within my tightened grasp. I pull my fists up to my mouth and let the screams die.

"Shhh." Blue eyes, rimmed in red stare back at me. I manage to turn my head before I can see what's really in them.

"M'fine." I croak and wonder how long I was screaming for. "You should go back to your room; you won't get any sleep in here." Peeta looks like he hasn't slept in weeks.

"No." Peeta mumbles, his breath ghosting across my shoulder as he lingers next to me on the bed. He's closer now but I think of Prim and my hands on the bow. I tell Peeta about my nightmare and he closes his eyes. Maybe he will think about everything I've ever done that has caused him pain and suffering.

"No." he says again. This time he takes my chin and forces me to look into his eyes. "It's not _real_."

It's been like this for some time now. A part of us died in the arena, a part of us died outside of it too. We won the games, we're victors and yet I don't feel like I've won anything really.

I ignore him and lay back down even though my heart is racing and the images are still fresh. I tuck my hand under the pillow and tell myself there's no blood, no arrows and heart wrenchingly, there's no Prim.

I'm too exhausted to be angry when Peeta places his arm around my shaking shoulders and whispers words in my ear. I don't want to hear them, I don't want to know because whatever they are, I don't deserve them.

"It's just a nightmare, it's not real." He repeats like a mantra and I know as much as its meant for me, he needs to hear it too. I push back against his chest and feel his chin rest on my shoulder. He says he won't go, that he can't go. I think I hear him say he loves me but I pretend I've already fallen back asleep.

The next morning, we come downstairs together. Haymitch doesn't ask about out new sleeping arrangements and I don't offer an explanation. The three of us usually congregate for meals and go our separate ways. A shirtless Peeta following me down the stairs did not escape his attention. I guess the cats out of the bag in this house and maybe it was just me who didn't see it. We aren't the star-crossed lovers from district twelve but that doesn't stop him from glaring at me.

"Well, well, well." He mutters under his breath before taking a swig out of his mug.

I snatch it from him and wrinkle my nose at the pungent smell of alcohol before draining it entirely. Peeta uses his paints to tear all of the horrible nightmares from his head. Not me, I have adopted our mentor's strategy of drowning them.

"That's disgusting." I tell him.

Haymitch frowns, hearing the emptiness when I set the glass back down. "It _tasted_ just fine."

It's not long before I smell coffee and express my gratitude with a smile as Peeta pours me a glass. He adds sugar to his but I prefer the lingering taste of it black. Peeta makes small talk but I don't believe either Haymitch or I ever truly engage, we are just grateful to be in his presence. That's the thing about Peeta, he reminds us how to live.

Later when the talk has ebbed, Haymitch leaves in search of more whiskey and the cat has been fed I find myself suiting up and trying not to let Peeta notice how bad my hands shake as I grab my bow. Its not illegal to hunt anymore, in fact theres really not much attention paid to us at all. President Paylor has granted us amnesty and mercifully immunity. No speeches, no appearances, just a life that is _ours_.

When I say goodbye to Peeta I'm struck by his insistence that he join. This is new. I don't follow when he goes off to paint, he doesn't follow when I go off to hunt. We have drawn lines between us and only at night, in the wake of terrors, do we ever cross them.

In the woods he's quiet and I wonder why he decided to come. Together we breathe in the fresh air and walk for what seems like an eternity in silence. Peeta is the one to kiss me first but I insist on making it last. I don't remember how we made it home but it felt like we'd done it a million times before. His hands didn't shake and mine didn't tremble. Nothing about this was real, nothing this good could ever be real again. Every promise, every word, every kiss was alive and full of life. This is how an eternity started but it didn't start because of fireworks and cameras. Our love story began a long time ago, but it picked up where it left off with just the two of us, staring down at the other in a world full of pain.


End file.
